Anne Brontë

Anne Brontë

1820–1849 · lived 29 years -- --

Anne Brontë was an English novelist and poet, the youngest of the three Brontë sisters. Her works often explored themes of social injustice, the constraints placed upon women, and the search for personal and spiritual freedom. She is known for her honest and often unflinching portrayal of characters and their struggles within the societal norms of her time.

n. 1820-01-17, Thornton, West Yorkshire · m. 1849-05-28, Scarborough

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Weep Not Too Much

Weep Not Too Much

Weep not too much, my darling;
Sigh not too oft for me;
Say not the face of Nature
Has lost its charm for thee.
I have enough of anguish
In my own breast alone;
Thou canst not ease the burden, Love,
By adding still thine own.
I know the faith and fervour
Of that true heart of thine;
But I would have it hopeful
As thou wouldst render mine.
At night, when I lie waking,
More soothing it will be
To say 'She slumbers calmly now,'
Than say 'She weeps for me.'

When through the prison grating
The holy moonbeams shine,
And I am wildly longing
To see the orb divine
Not crossed, deformed, and sullied
By those relentless bars
That will not show the crescent moon,
And scarce the twinkling stars,

It is my only comfort
To think, that unto thee
The sight is not forbidden The
face of heaven is free.
If I could think Zerona
Is gazing upward now Is
gazing with a tearless eye
A calm unruffled brow;

That moon upon her spirit
Sheds sweet, celestial balm, The
thought, like Angel's whisper,
My misery would calm.
And when, at early morning,
A faint flush comes to me,
Reflected from those glowing skies
I almost weep to see;

Or when I catch the murmur
Of gently swaying trees,
Or hear the louder swelling
Of the soulinspiring
breeze,
And pant to feel its freshness
Upon my burning brow,
Or sigh to see the twinkling leaf,
And watch the waving bough;


If, from these fruitless yearnings
Thou wouldst deliver me,
Say that the charms of Nature
Are lovely still to thee;
While I am thus repining,
O! let me but believe,
'These pleasures are not lost to her,'
And I will cease to grieve.

O, scorn not Nature's bounties!
My soul partakes with thee.
Drink bliss from all her fountains,
Drink for thyself and me!
Say not, 'My soul is buried
In dungeon gloom with thine;'
But say, 'His heart is here with me;
His spirit drinks with mine.'

A.E.
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Bio

Identification and basic context

Anne Brontë, also known by her pseudonym Acton Bell, was an English novelist and poet. She was the youngest of the Brontë siblings. Her family background was that of a clergyman's daughter in the early 19th century, a period of significant social and economic change. She was English and wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Born into a literary family, Anne's early life was shaped by her father's clerical duties and the remote parsonage at Haworth. She received a basic education at home and later attended Roe Head school with her sisters, though she did not stay long. She also served as a governess for a time. Early influences likely included religious teachings and the literary works her family read and discussed.

Literary trajectory

Anne Brontë began writing poetry early in life, a common practice among the Brontë siblings. Her literary career as a novelist began later, with the publication of 'Agnes Grey' in 1847, followed by 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall' in 1848. These works, published under the pseudonym Acton Bell, were part of a joint publication with her sisters' novels.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Anne Brontë's major works include "Agnes Grey" (1847) and "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" (1848). Her dominant themes revolved around the plight of governesses, the hypocrisy of society, marital abuse, alcoholism, and the struggle for female independence and moral integrity. Her style is characterized by its realism, directness, and moral earnestness, often presenting a stark contrast to the more romantic or Gothic elements found in her sisters' works. She was a pioneer in depicting the harsh realities faced by women in Victorian society, particularly in domestic and professional spheres. Her poetic voice is often clear, reasoned, and passionate about social justice.

Cultural and historical context

Anne Brontë lived during the Victorian era, a time of strict social conventions, particularly for women. As a woman, her professional options were limited, with governess positions being one of the few respectable avenues. The novel "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" was controversial for its frank depiction of marital degradation and alcoholism, reflecting contemporary social issues and moral debates. She belonged to a generation of writers grappling with the changes brought about by industrialization and a growing awareness of social inequalities.

Personal life

Anne's personal life was marked by the close bonds with her sisters and father, and the tragic early deaths of her siblings. Her experiences as a governess likely informed "Agnes Grey." While not as publicly engaged as some contemporaries, her deep moral convictions and her passionate defense of her second novel suggest a strong personal will and commitment to her artistic vision.

Recognition and reception

Initially, Anne Brontë's novels, particularly "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," faced criticism for their perceived coarseness and controversial subject matter. However, their literary merit and unflinching honesty have been increasingly recognized over time. "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" is now considered a groundbreaking work of feminist literature and a powerful social commentary.

Influences and legacy

While direct influences are debated, Anne Brontë's writing shares a lineage with the realism of earlier novelists and her sisters' literary explorations. She, in turn, influenced subsequent generations of writers interested in social realism and feminist themes. Her legacy lies in her courageous depiction of female agency and her unflinching examination of social injustices, contributing significantly to the development of the novel as a vehicle for social critique.

Interpretation and critical analysis

"The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" has been interpreted as an early feminist text for its portrayal of a woman seeking escape from an abusive marriage and asserting her independence. Critics have analyzed its social realism, its psychological depth, and its theological undertones regarding redemption and personal responsibility.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Unlike her sisters Charlotte and Emily, Anne's temperament was often described as more reserved and outwardly conventional, yet her writing demonstrated a fierce independence of thought and a clear moral vision. Her dedication to her second novel, even after facing criticism, highlights a strong inner conviction.

Death and memory

Anne Brontë died at the age of 29, likely from tuberculosis, a disease that claimed many of her siblings. Her death occurred before her literary reputation had fully solidified, but her works have endured and grown in significance.

Poems

34

Lines Written at Thorp Green

Lines Written at Thorp Green

That summer sun, whose genial glow
Now cheers my drooping spirit so
Must cold and distant be,
And only light our northern clime
With feeble ray, before the time
I long so much to see.
And this soft whispering breeze that now
So gently cools my fevered brow,
This too, alas, must turn To
a wild blast whose icy dart
Pierces and chills me to the heart,
Before I cease to mourn.


And these bright flowers I love so well,
Verbena, rose and sweet bluebell,
Must droop and die away.
Those thick green leaves with all their shade
And rustling music, they must fade
And every one decay.


But if the sunny summer time
And woods and meadows in their prime
Are sweet to them that roam Far
sweeter is the winter bare
With long dark nights and landscapes drear
To them that are at Home!
92

Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day

Lines Composed in a Wood on a Windy Day

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.
The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves, beneath them, are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky.


I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder today!


Acton
419

In Memory of a Happy Day in February

In Memory of a Happy Day in February

Blessed be Thou for all the joy
My soul has felt today!
O let its memory stay with me
And never pass away!
I was alone, for those I loved
Were far away from me,
The sun shone on the withered grass,
The wind blew fresh and free.

Was it the smile of early spring
That made my bosom glow?
'Twas sweet, but neither sun nor wind
Could raise my spirit so.

Was it some feeling of delight,
All vague and undefined?
No, 'twas a rapture deep and strong,
Expanding in the mind!

Was it a sanguine view of life
And all its transient blissA
hope of bright prosperity?
O no, it was not this!

It was a glimpse of truth divine
Unto my spirit given
Illumined by a ray of light
That shone direct from heaven!

I felt there was a God on high
By whom all things were made.
I saw His wisdom and his power
In all his works displayed.

But most throughout the moral world
I saw his glory shine;
I saw His wisdom infinite,
His mercy all divine.

Deep secrets of his providence
In darkness long concealed
Were brought to my delighted eyes
And graciously revealed.

But while I wondered and adored
His wisdom so divine,
I did not tremble at his power,
I felt that God was mine.

I knew that my Redeemer lived,
I did not fear to die;
Full sure that I should rise again



To immortality.

I longed to view that bliss divine
Which eye hath never seen,
To see the glories of his face
Without the veil between.
94

Home

Home


How brightly glistening in the sun
The woodland ivy plays!

While yonder beeches from their barks
Reflect his silver rays.

That sun surveys a lovely scene
From softly smiling skies;

And wildly through unnumbered trees
The wind of winter sighs:

Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,
And now in distance dies.

But give me back my barren hills
Where colder breezes rise;

Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees
Can yield an answering swell,

But where a wilderness of heath
Returns the sound as well.

For yonder garden, fair and wide,
With groves of evergreen,

Long winding walks, and borders trim,
And velvet lawns between;

Restore to me that little spot,
With grey walls compassed round,

Where knotted grass neglected lies,
And weeds usurp the ground.

Though all around this mansion high
Invites the foot to roam,

And though its halls are fair within Oh,
give me back my HOME!

Acton
86

Fragment

Fragment


Yes I will take a cheerful tone
And feign to share their heartless glee,
But I would rather weep alone
Than laugh amid their revelry.
88

Despondency

Despondency


I have gone backward in the work,
The labour has not sped,
Drowsy and dark my spirit lies,

Heavy and dull as lead.
How can I rouse my sinking soul
From such a lethargy?


How can I break these iron chains,
And set my spirit free?

There have been times when I have mourned,
In anguish o'er the past;
And raised my suppliant hands on high,
While tears fell thick and fast,

And prayed to have my sins forgiven
With such a fervent zeal,
An earnest grief a
strong desire
That now I cannot feel!

And vowed to trample on my sins,
And called on Heaven to aid
My spirit in her firm resolves
And hear the vows I made.

And I have felt so full of love,
So strong in spirit then,
As if my heart would never cool
Or wander back again.

And yet, alas! how many times
My feet have gone astray,
How oft have I forgot my God,
How greatly fallen away!

My sins increase, my love grows cold,
And Hope within me dies,
And Faith itself is wavering now,
O how shall I arise!

I cannot weep but I can pray,
Then let me not despair;
Lord Jesus, save me lest I die,
And hear a wretch's prayer.
78

Farewell

Farewell


Farewell to thee! but not farewell

To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;

And they shall cheer and comfort me.
O, beautiful, and full of grace!

If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face

Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold again

That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain

Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose tone

Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,

Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam

My memory would not cherish less; And
oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam

Nor mortal language can express.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still,

The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,

But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,

May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past

With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?
86

An Orphan's Lament

An Orphan's Lament

She's gone and
twice the summer's sun
Has gilt Regina's towers,
And melted wild Angora's snows,
And warmed Exina's bowers.
The flowerets twice on hill and dale
Have bloomed and died away,
And twice the rustling forest leaves
Have fallen to decay,


And thrice stern winter's icy hand
Has checked the river's flow,
And three times o'er the mountains thrown
His spotless robe of snow.


Two summers springs and autumns sad
Three winters cold and grey And
is it then so long ago
That wild November day!


They say such tears as children weep
Will soon be dried away,
That childish grief however strong
Is only for a day,


And parted friends how dear soe'er
Will soon forgotten be;
It may be so with other hearts,
It is not thus with me.


My mother, thou wilt weep no more
For thou art gone above,
But can I ever cease to mourn
Thy good and fervent love?


While that was mine the world to me
Was sunshine bright and fair;
No feeling rose within my heart
But thou couldst read it there.


And thou couldst feel for all my joys
And all my childish cares
And never weary of my play
Or scorn my foolish fears.


Beneath thy sweet maternal smile
All pain and sorrow fled,
And even the very tears were sweet
Upon thy bosom shed.


Thy loss can never be repaired;
I shall not know again
While life remains, the peaceful joy



That filled my spirit then.


Where shall I find a heart like thine
While life remains to me,
And where shall I bestow the love
I ever bore for thee?


A.H.
104

Call Me Away

Call Me Away

Call me away; there's nothing here,
That wins my soul to stay;
Then let me leave this prospect drear,
And hasten far away.
To our beloved land I'll flee,
Our land of thought and soul,
Where I have roved so oft with thee,
Beyond the world's control.

I'll sit and watch those ancient trees,
Those Scotch firs dark and high;
I'll listen to the eerie breeze,
Among their branches sigh.

The glorious moon shines far above;
How soft her radiance falls,
On snowy heights, and rock, and grove;
And yonder palace walls!

Who stands beneath yon fir trees high?
A youth both slight and fair,
Whose bright and restless azure eye

Proclaims him known to care,
Though fair that brow, it is not smooth;
Though small those features, yet in sooth

Stern passion has been there.

Now on the peaceful moon are fixed
Those eyes so glistening bright,
But trembling teardrops hang betwixt,
And dim the blessed light.

Though late the hour, and keen the blast,
That whistles round him now,
Those raven locks are backward cast,
To cool his burning brow.

His hands above his heaving breast
Are clasped in agony '
O Father! Father! let me rest!
And call my soul to thee!

I know 'tis weakness thus to pray;
But all this cankering care This
doubt tormenting night and day
Is more than I can bear!

With none to comfort, none to guide
And none to strengthen me.
Since thou my only friend hast died I've
pined to follow thee!
Since thou hast died! And did he live


What comfort could his counsel give To
one forlorn like me?

Would he my Idol's form adore Her
soul, her glance, her tone?
And say, "Forget for ever more

Her kindred and thine own;
Let dreams of her thy peace destroy,
Leave every other hope and joy

And live for her alone"?'

He starts, he smiles, and dries the tears,
Still glistening on his cheek,
The lady of his soul appears,
And hark! I hear her speak


'Aye, dry thy tears; thou wilt not weep While
I am by thy side Our
foes all day their watch may keep

But cannot thus divide
Such hearts as ours; and we tonight
Together in the clear moon's light

Their malice will deride.

No fear our present bliss shall blast
And sorrow we'll defy.
Do thou forget the dreary past,
The dreadful future I.'

Forget it? Yes, while thou art by
I think of nought but thee,
'Tis only when thou art not nigh
Remembrance tortures me.

But such a lofty soul to find,
And such a heart as thine,
In such a glorious form enshrined

And still to call thee mine Would
be for earth too great a bliss,
Without a taint of woe like this,

Then why should I repine?
120

A Word To The 'Elect'

A Word To The 'Elect'

You may rejoice to think yourselves secure;
You may be grateful for the gift divine That
grace unsought, which made your black hearts pure,
And fits your earthborn
souls in Heaven to shine.
But, is it sweet to look around, and view
Thousands excluded from that happiness,
Which they deserved, at least, as much as you, Their
faults not greater, nor their virtues less?


And, wherefore should you love your God the more,
Because to you alone his smiles are given;
Because he chose to pass the many o'er,
And only bring the favoured few to Heaven?


And, wherefore should your hearts more grateful prove,
Because for ALL the Saviour did not die?
Is yours the God of justice and of love
And are your bosoms warm with charity?


Say, does your heart expand to all mankind?
And, would you ever to your neighbour do The
weak, the strong, the enlightened, and the blind As
you would have your neighbour do to you?


And, when you, looking on your fellowmen,
Behold them doomed to endless misery,
How can you talk of joy and rapture then? May
God withhold such cruel joy from me!


That none deserve eternal bliss I know;
Unmerited the grace in mercy given:
But, none shall sink to everlasting woe,
That have not well deserved the wrath of Heaven.


And, Oh! there lives within my heart
A hope, long nursed by me;
(And, should its cheering ray depart,
How dark my soul would be!)

That as in Adam all have died,
In Christ shall all men live;
And ever round his throne abide,
Eternal praise to give.

That even the wicked shall at last
Be fitted for the skies;
And, when their dreadful doom is past,
To life and light arise.

I ask not, how remote the day,
Nor what the sinner's woe,
Before their dross is purged away;


Enough for me, to know

That when the cup of wrath is drained,
The metal purified,

They'll cling to what they once disdained,
And live by Him that died.

Acton
86

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